


how could you ever turn her down

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Avengers, Drunken Confessions, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda?, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Run-On Sentences, Swearing, abuse of commas, fuck fox news amiright, i can't write smut don't make me, shrunkyclunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 06:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11008047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Because they are a horrible devil network who use patriotism as an excuse for their own shitty opinions,” Sam stated, matter-of-factly. “Plus, they can't tell their asses from their microphones.”Steve reached out his arm for a fist bump. “This is why we’re friends.”





	how could you ever turn her down

**Author's Note:**

> title from Harry Styles' "Carolina"
> 
> 6-12-17: 100 KUDOS!!! THANK YOU!!!!!!!

Stepping into his apartment, Bucky could immediately tell he wasn’t alone.

 

Leaning his weight on his back leg, he slowly reached to his jeans and pulled out the revolver from his waistband. Sliding to the nearby wall, he slinked his way to the corner, and then stepped into the middle of the living room, gun aimed at the figure sitting on his sofa. 

 

Natasha smiled back, predatory. Her hair was fiery red even in the dark. “Hello James.”

 

Letting out a breath, Bucky clutched his heart and dropped the gun to his side. “Jesus. Couldn't have given me a little bit of a warning?”

 

“It’s good to keep you on your toes.”

 

“I’m retired.”

 

Natasha hummed, reaching a hand to her ear. “All clear here, come on up.”

 

Bucky stilled, his calm demeanor immediately vanishing. He slid his finger back onto the trigger. “Nat…”

 

“It’s okay James, relax,” she put up her other hand, palm raised. “We’re just having a bit of company.”

 

His arm clicked ominously. “Company?”

 

The elevator dinged, opening it’s doors, and five men all but fell out.

 

“Yeah,” Natasha nodded. “Company.”

 

“Perfect,” Bucky muttered, sticking the gun back in his waistband. 

 

“Natasha!” One of the men yelled out, struggling to walk with one of the other’s arms around his shoulder. “We just overthrew the American government!”

 

“Yes Clint,” she pulled out her phone and started to type. “We did.”

 

“Wait--” Bucky sputtered, “the _fuck_ did you just do?”

 

She looked at him from her phone. “The American government was infiltrated by Hydra.” 

 

Bucky’s heart stopped.

 

“But,” Natasha continued, “we stopped them.” She peered back down at her screen. “The overthrowing thing--” she shrugged, fingers flying. “Means to an end.”

 

Bucky blinked. “And now you're hiding out in my apartment.”

 

She nodded. “If you don't mind.”

 

-

 

Bucky did mind. He minded very, very much. Having half a dozen miscreants crawling around his apartment, talking and breathing and _thinking,_ was not something Bucky wanted.

 

But, being a self-sufficient and functioning human being, he put that behind him and graciously _(graciously)_ let the band of misfits into his apartment.

 

Leaning against the wall, arm whirring in irritation, Bucky watched the chaotic scene before him.

 

One of the blonde ones, with broad shoulders and a cute ass, immediately caught his attention. Arms crossed, mouth set in a straight line, he was talking to one of the others behind the couch in hushed tones. The partner, with something looking like a parachute on his back, whispered “Steve,” and patted him on the shoulder. The blonde’s (Steve’s) mouth slightly turned up at the corners, but that didn’t offset the sorrow that captured the rest of his face. He mumbled “Thanks Sam,” and went to go lay down one of Bucky’s couches.

 

A brunette, with almost comically styled facial hair, had set up shop under Bucky’s floor lamp. Typing away on some type of computer, he looked slightly psychotic, muttering under his breath and yelling a slight ‘Aha!’ every two minutes.

 

The other blonde one, Clint, set the guy (Natasha called him Bruce) on the couch, covering him with a blanket and scuttling over to Natasha, chattering animatedly. She pointed to Bucky, and he paused, so she reached over and pulled him closer, staring at him until Clint cautiously walked over to Bucky..

 

“Do you have a bowl?” Clint asked, arms behind his back and standing like an expectant child. “And some rags? Cold water?”

 

Bucky bit back his sarcasm (Of course he has a _bowl._ Who doesn’t have a fucking _bowl?)_ and led Clint into his kitchen. Grabbing a bowl from the cupboard, he filled it with water from the sink and stuck in a rag. He held it out to Clint. 

 

Clint snatched it away from Bucky’s hands, looking down at the basin and trying not to seem as awkward as he appears. Bowing stiffly, he dashed back to the couch, the quiver on his back jostling and sat down next to Bruce. Squeezing out the excess water, he put the cool rag on Bruce’s head, who gave a pained hum in response. After placing the bowl carefully on one of Bucky’s larger coasters, Clint took off the quiver, leaned back on the couch and started to count each one of his left-over arrows.

 

“You kinda get used to it.” Natasha slid next to Bucky, adjusting one of the tasers on her wrist. “The chaos I mean.”

 

“Yeah--I got what you meant.”

 

“Hey! J-Dog! You got any protein shakes?” The brunette’s smile looked deranged under the lamplight.

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “J-Dog?”

 

“Well, your file didn’t really give anything alluding to your first name besides an initial so,” he threw up his hands, “I improvised.”

 

“Stark,” Natasha warned.

 

“My file?” Bucky responded, gravely, hand inching towards his back. Feeling something tighten around his wrist, he turned around, seeing Natasha shake her head and mouth _no._

 

“Yep.” Stark continued to type, his eyes flying back and forth between the screens like some type of madman. “Don’t worry man, the best of the best can only _dream_ about getting past this firewall.” He looked at Bucky, a sly grin on his face. “And I’m better than them. So don’t worry.”

 

Bucky tightened his jaw, arm clenched, and when Stark finally saw the metal plates shifting his eyes almost bugged out of his skull. 

 

“No fucking _way.”_ He scrambled up from the floor and all but sprinted to Bucky’s spot on the wall. Stark’s hands reached out and probably would’ve ripped Bucky’s arm out of his socket if Natasha hadn’t jutted out her arm and blocked him.

 

“Don’t tempt me,” Natasha gritted out, cold eyes piercing into Stark’s skull. If Bucky didn’t know better, he would’ve burst out laughing at Stark’s terrified expression.

 

He smiled instead.

 

“You can look at the arm tomorrow _if,”_ she turned to look at Bucky, “James agrees.”

 

Bucky shrugged, gently pushing away Natasha’s arm. “I don’t really have a problem with it.”

 

Stark beamed back. “Oh thank God. You're not gonna regret this, promise. I’ve been researching metals compatibility with human tissue so I could make some more quality improvements to the suit--”

 

“Hey!” Clint yelled from the couch, his arrows laid out by size on the floor. “Down boy. Leave James alone.”

 

He gazed over at Clint’s concerned expression. “I go by Bucky actually.”

 

Stark glared at him. “Okay, alright, no objection to him treating me like a dog. I see where your allegiance lies.” Bucky batted his eyelashes, innocently, and Stark grimaced. 

 

“But--” Clint frowned. “But Nat calls you James?”

 

“Bucky is a name for a child.” Natasha leaned back on the wall, stripping off the weapons from her wrists. “And seeing as he is not a child, I call him James. Come on then, _James,”_ she grabbed Bucky’s hand and led him toward the kitchen. “Let’s make dinner for the troops.”

 

-

 

Bucky didn’t notice the blue eyes following him as he was pulled into the kitchen.

 

-

 

“What the hell is this?” Clint moaned into his food, shoveling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. “And why do I love it so much?”

 

“Kraft Mac and Cheese,” Bucky responded, stirring (yet another) boiling pot on the stove. “And eat with your mouth _closed,_ please.”

 

“Yeah, Clint,” Stark kicked him under the table, eating obnoxiously loud as well. “Have some manners.”

 

“Hi.” Bucky stiffened. “Need some help?” Bucky turned his head and looked at Steve, standing right next to him with his hands crossed in front of him.

 

“Um,” Bucky shrugged. “Sure. Here,” he grabbed the pot with his metal hand and poured it out into the strainer. Pointing to the sink, he said “Just strain this and pour it into the pot. The rest of the instructions are on the box.”

 

Steve nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his uniform, before quickly sticking out his hand, as if suddenly realizing he has to be polite. “Sorry,” he said, the types of his ears turning red. “I’m Steve.”

 

Bucky felt the side of his mouth twitching up in response. He took Steve’s hand. “Bucky.”

 

“Well, uh, yeah, I know.” Steve’s slightly flushed ears turned bright red, eyes widening as he realized what he just said. “I mean--that, that sounds really creepy,” he stuttered.

 

“No, no,” Bucky chuckled, letting go of Steve’s grip and straightening his posture. “I understand completely.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, a coy smile on his face.

 

“Well if you two are done,” Stark boomed from the table, making both boys jump. “But I want more.” He started banging his spoon on the table, chanting “More! More! More!”

 

Natasha passed behind him with an empty her bowl in her hands, and smacked him in the head.

 

-

 

“How long do you think you guys are going to end up staying? I mean--oh, Steve here,” Bucky added another pillow to the ever growing stack in Steve’s arms, his blonde hair peeking out at the top. “Thanks--I mean not that I don’t enjoy the company but,” he looked over to Natasha, a pink blanket hanging off his shoulder, “people might start to notice.”

 

Natasha hummed, lowering Bruce back down onto the couch before placing the rag back on his head. “You don’t need to worry about that James. If you remember,” she winked. “I’m quite the master of espionage.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling Steve along by the elbow to the other couch, unoccupied. Throwing down the blanket on the cushions, he grabbed two of the pillows from Steve’s arms and plopped them down on the couch. 

 

Stark strolled into the room, a towel around his neck and wet hair falling on his forehead. He scrunched up his nose at the scene before him, revolted by people actually working past 10 P.M. “What are you guys even _doing?”_

 

Bucky sighs, taking another pillow out of Steve’s arms and lobbing it at Stark’s head. “We’re making beds.” 

 

Sputtering, Stark scrunched the pillow in his hands while glaring at Bucky from under the mass of hair plastered onto his forehead. “I don’t like you.”

 

“Not a lot of people do.”

 

“Don’t worry Bucky,” Steve beamed, holding out the remaining pillow like a gift. _“I_ like you.”

 

Bucky grinned back, grabbing the pillow and muttering a quick “Thanks.” 

 

Walking into the spare room, Bucky clutched the pillow like a lifeline while Steve fell in line behind him.

 

Natasha stirred Bruce awake with her giggling. “Whazzat?” he grumbled, towel falling slightly into his eyes while leaning up on his elbows.

 

“Hm, oh, nothing.” She pushed his chest back down and positioned the rag back on his forehead. “Just realized something.”

 

-

 

Over the course of the past couple hours, Bucky learned many things:

 

Natasha is nearly the same as before. More refined along the edges, elegant and sophisticated as opposed to young and chic. Which wasn’t a bad thing, of course, but a definite improvement. Bucky could tell, however, the weight of having to manage five other adults and making sure they don’t die is causing more stress on Nat than she likely realizes.

 

Clint was paranoid, that was something Bucky knew for sure (from personal experience). He noticed Clint inspecting the corners of rooms and bottoms of tables less than an hour after dinner had ended, which must have taken some serious self restraint. With his skittish demeanor and shifty eyes, he knew it was only a matter of time. But beyond all of that, he was kind, caring--at least in his own way.

 

(He had accidentally cracked one of Bucky’s bowls, and while Bucky tried to reassure him as best as he could, Clint shook his head and gave him an exploding arrow in apology.

 

When Bucky asked why the hell would he ever use this, Clint shrugged, saying “For fun.”)

 

Bruce--Bucky honestly doesn’t know that much about Bruce. Except that he likes sleep and cold compresses.

 

Stark was a menace. A pure, unadulterated, huge fucking menace. He hacked into the DOD database less than ten minutes of walking into Bucky’s apartment. He almost started a food war when he vaulted mac and cheese at Natasha’s face from his spoon, shaped like a miniature catapult. And he had somehow, somehow completely shredded one of Bucky’s pillows, making the couch look like someone had set a toddler loose with feathers and glue into Bucky’s living room.

 

However, he was a genius. Irritatingly genius, in fact, and completely fucked up. He was currently hunched over on the couch, his face illuminated by the computer, fingers typing a mile a minute, with dark circles under his eyes that could’ve only formed from weeks of sleep deprivation. Bucky should know.

 

Sam was, _holy shit._ Sam was pure, a gift from Heaven above. Without even being asked, he had taken off his gloves and stuck his hands into the soapy sink and began scrubbing dishes. He even told _jokes,_ some so dirty that Clint almost spontaneously combusted. Bucky should’ve lifted him up by the back of his shirt and yell at the others “See Sam? You guys should be more like Sam.”

 

But Steve--Steve was something else. Something that Bucky had never seen before. He had an aura--one that demanded reverence and admiration. When he stepped into a room, even the air seemed to stop moving out of respect. He had all this power seeping out of his skin and falling out of his hands, and yet, didn’t seem totally sure how to use it. It seemed strange, at the least, like giving a child a loaded pistol and saying “Here, use this.”

 

Bucky knew the story--don’t think he didn’t. Being frozen for seventy years would certainly catch anyone’s attention. And Steve seemed like a proper boyscout: pristine, clean-cut, the type to say ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no sir’ and to always wash their hands before supper. Combining all of that with the unfortunate blushing impulse, he could’ve been twelve years old and Bucky wouldn't even question it. 

 

But he knew a soldier when he saw one. The thousand-yard stare and the posture that was way too perfect to ever occur naturally. So he knew, under all that good boy facade, was a foul-mouthed, pure-hearted, devil eyed soldier, who would kiss you dirty and rough and quick and Buck’s mind was going _severely_ off topic.

 

But he couldn’t deny the way it made him blush all on his own. 

 

-

 

The next morning, Bucky walked out of his room and almost forgot he had a band of fugitives living in his apartment.

 

Almost.

 

Waiting for the coffee to brew, Bucky looked at the various figures splayed around the room.

 

Clint was huddled, if not buried, under almost all of Bucky’s blankets, hair peeking out from under a quite offensive yellow duvet, snoring soundly.

 

Bruce was still passed out cold, and if Bucky hadn’t seen the slow rise and fall of his chest, he would’ve thought Clint dropped a dead man on his couch. 

 

(He reminded himself to ask Nat what the fuck was his deal)

 

Stark was spread out all over the blue couch, arms flung out behind his head and one leg dangling off the edge of the sofa. There was a lone feather in his hair, as well as others spread out on the floor. His computer was still on his chest.

 

Sam was the only normal sleeper out of the four. Hands clasped on his chest, the blanket and sheets accompanied the slow rise and fall of his breathing. They were still pristinely folded from when Bucky had set up the cot last night.

 

It was so healthy and normal, Bucky almost threw up.

 

Steve was nowhere to be seen.

 

Bucky felt his heart rate slowly start to speed up.

 

But then the shower turned on, and a slight humming sound emitted from Bucky’s bathroom. 

 

Slowly, Bucky started to breath normally again, releasing tiny breaths while putting his hands on his hips and cracking his back. Reaching to the pot, he poured out the coffee and added an amount of sugar that was most likely extremely unhealthy to his mug, all while listening to the water slowly running from the bathroom.

 

The smell of freshly brewed coffee must penetrate even the deepest realms of sleep, because not five minutes later Bucky heard a shuffling of feet coming in from the living room.

 

Stark scratched his chest, yawning, while making grabby hands towards the coffee machine. 

 

“Please give me the sweet nectar,” Stark groaned, blinking his eyes open.“For I am a mere mortal who cannot function at fuck-o-clock in the morning.”

 

“It’s 5 A.M.” Bucky reached up to the cupboard and grabbed another mug. “You’ll live.”

 

“I hate you people,” Stark grumbled, shuffling around the floor, looking horribly lost.

 

Bucky nudged him on his shoulder, handing him a cup. Stark took it in his hands, seemingly surprised that Bucky could be somewhat normal (he can do that sometimes). “Oh. Thanks Barnes.”

 

He nodded. They both drank in silence, watching the sun come up.

 

-

 

“So there’s nothing we can do.” Steve’s face was crestfallen, and Sam rubbed his shoulder helplessly. 

 

Natasha shook her head. “Not unless you want to get exiled, or worse.”

 

(Bucky heard Sam mutter ‘expelled,’ and he had to shove his nails into his thigh to stop himself from fucking _cackling)_

 

“Oh.” Steve clenched his jaw, and stared down at the table.

 

“I’m sorry Steve,” Natasha reached over and rubbed her thumb against Steve’s fist, giving her a glum smile in return.

 

“So,” Clint peeped from the end of the table. “What exactly does that mean?”

 

Natasha took in a deep breath, closing her eyes. “It means--vacation.”

 

Stark perked up so fast, his chair slid out from under him. 

 

“Wait--” Sam stuttered, hands gesturing wildly, like they were trying to grasp the situation before it completely disappeared. “Vacation?”

 

Stark moaned from the floor, and raised his arms in the air. _“Yes.”_

 

“Not really _vacation_ vacation, since the only one of us who can leave the building is James--”

 

He muttered “Yay me.”

 

“--but we can’t do anything else, so yes.”

 

Clint immediately dragged away Stark and Sam, hollering about getting Bruce and playing a four-way game of spit, while Steve stared absently at the table.

 

He muttered “What the fuck is a _vacation?”_ and Bucky lost his shit.

 

-

 

“So,” Clint tapped his finger against the cards in his hands, biting his lip and brow furrowed in concentration. “Got any threes?”

 

Bucky shook his head. “Go fish.”

 

 _“FUCK.”_ Clint set his face in a severe frown and reached for the pile of cards in front of him, snatching away another card so fast it was like it had personally offended him.

 

Bruce grumbled “Language,” shuffling around his own cards so they're edges formed a perfect half circle. He had woken up a half an hour ago, reluctantly joining an extreme game of Go Fish, with clothes still rumpled and eyes sagging. 

 

(Natasha explained “The fight took a lot out of him. He usually tries to stay in Hulk form for small periods of time--but he fought for eight hours straight.” She shrugged “Anyone would be tired after that.”

 

Bucky noticed the shaking of her own hands as she stuck her glass under the faucet, and slowly led her back to bed.)

 

“Why can’t we play poker?”

 

“Because I don't have poker chips,” Bucky responded to Stark’s pouting face. “And it’s not even noon.”

 

“The fuck does the time have to do with playing poker?”

 

“Because,” Steve’s eyes were lazily looking around the room, features soft in the morning daylight. “Poker is a nighttime game, even I know that.”

 

“Besides,” Steve slowly switched two cards in his set, “I would wipe the _floor_ with you guys.” His mouth turned up into a smirk. 

 

Bucky found his mouth dropping open in shock. 

 

Stark scoffed, bringing his cards to his chest and leaning forward, sighting a challenge. “Bring it on _grandpa.”_

 

While Clint was trying to keep Bruce from falling back asleep, Sam stood at a distance, ready to jump on any fight that may occur, while Bucky watched the whole exchange with pure amusement and awe. 

 

Steve licked his bottom lip, straightening his back. Looking back down at his cards, he asked “Got any fours?”

 

Stark froze. Like it never occurred to him that he could outright challenge Captain America and _lose._

 

Growling, Stark threw his cards down at Steve’s crossed feet, stalking away. He muttered “It’s all _rigged.”_

 

Looking down, Bucky saw a set of fours nestled between two queens. 

 

-

 

“Not to invade your privacy but,” Clint hopped back onto the counter and swung his feet above the floor. “We have some requests.”

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, slowly stirring the brownie mix Natasha had coerced him into making. “...requests?”

 

Clint nodded, the white bandage on his nose flapping off. Clint smoothed it back down, saying “Like clothes and food, random stuff. We just can't go get it ourselves--being fugitives and all.”

 

Bucky scraped the remainder of the mix off the spoon, throwing it into the sink. Fair enough. 

 

He took the paper from Clint’s hands, leaning back against the counter while Clint tried not to bang his heels against the wood. 

 

Bucky read through the list, noting the sensible suggestions written in perfect cursive (probably Steve’s), like _protein shakes, extra towels,_ and _ear plugs._ He ignores the _pool floaties_ and _KY jelly_ in horrid chicken scratch. He had no doubts who they were from. 

 

Clint’s voice knocked him out of his head. “So how'd you and Nat meet?” 

 

Bucky stilled, metal fingers slightly crumpling the paper in his grip. 

 

“When she said she knew someone in Brooklyn, we were kinda shocked. We didn't even think Natasha could like an American. Except me of course.”

 

He cleared his throat, trying to slow down his heart rate. _You can trust Clint,_ he reminded himself. _Natasha trusts him, so you can trust him._

_Plus, he’s just as screwed up as you._

 

“We worked together.”

 

Clint hummed. “Figured as much.” He dipped one of his fingers into the brownie mix, sticking it back in his mouth before Bucky could smack it away. 

 

“So you're Russian?” He continued, slowly, trying to keep from frightening Bucky off.

 

Bucky shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “No. We were on the same side of things, but not with the same people.”

 

Turning around, he grabbed the bowl with his hand, moving it away from Clint’s wandering hands. He poured it into the metal tray, leaning down and sticking it into the oven. 

 

Feeling the heat rush onto his face, Bucky took in a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. 

 

“Hydra,” he felt Clint freeze, “and Russia’s interests were somewhat aligned for a bit, and they thought we would work well together.”

 

Clint looked down at the floor, wringing his wrists like an eighty year old. “What'd they call you?”

 

Bucky bit his lip. “The Winter Soldier.”

 

Clint nodded. There were some things that went unsaid. 

 

(Like, ‘Dude, we just stopped your old bosses from destroying American democracy’ and ‘I heard how you made a shot from 2,600 yards, and they couldn’t even find the guy’s head,’ and ‘How’d you get out? Does it have something to do with why your left arm is fucking metal?’)

 

He jumped off the counter and patted Bucky on the shoulder. 

 

Walking to the fridge, Clint stuck his head in the cold air. “You got any milk in this bitch?”

 

Bucky chuckled, his panicked heart slowing down. “Next to the orange juice.”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

-

 

Bucky kicked the door closed behind him, with approximately twelve thousand bags in his arms, and Steve immediately appeared. 

 

He must have a sixth sense or something.

 

“You need help?” He was already reaching out and grabbing some of Bucky’s bags. 

 

“Yeah,” he gestured to the bundle in Steve’s hands. “You can take those into the kitchen.”

 

“Gotcha.” Steve turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, hips swaying. 

 

He heard Clint yelp “Dude, fucking _oreos,”_ and Steve let out a small snort. 

 

It wasn't cute. Definitely not. 

 

“Well.” Bucky jumped, hastily turning to Natasha, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and smirking. 

 

Bucky groaned, _“Don't.”_

 

“I’m not saying anything.” Her eyes were twinkling. “He likes you.”

 

Bucky frowned, using all his self control to keep his face from turning pink. “He’s just polite.”

 

Natasha hummed, staring at her fingernails. “Sure.”

 

Bucky huffed, walking into the living room. “I’m getting way too used to this.”

 

-

 

“I’m _bored.”_

 

“Tony, for the love of all that is holy,” Bruce snapped. “I’m trying to find my fucking _zen.”_

 

“Oh,” Stark muttered from his spot on the floor, “If you only saw the irony. Plus, good rhyming.”

 

“Shut up.” Bruce let out a long breath, and returned to sitting crossed legged in the corner, staying quiet and finding his center or some shit. 

 

Feeling a dip in the cushions, Buck looked back and saw Steve cautiously sitting next to Bucky on the couch. Folding his hands in his lap, he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, looking straight ahead, as if ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. 

 

Bucky poked his leg with a socked foot, Steve gazing over, and something was off.

 

“Hi,” Bucky prompted, nudging him again with his foot. 

 

Steve’s eyes widened. “Hi?”

 

His throat tightened. Through Steve’s seemingly nervous demeanor, Bucky saw pity. He was acting like one wrong word or gesture would set him off. Like Clint.

 

Bucky was going to _murder_ him. 

 

“Clint told you I’m guessing?” Bucky laid back, pulling his hood down and crossing his arms. He tried to remember if you could kill someone with a hoodie’s drawstring. 

 

Steve shook his head, yes. 

 

Bucky nodded, “Thought so.” He peered out from under the hood, eyes shining. “Do you care?”

 

Steve paused, looking down at his hands. Slowly his head shook again, “No.”

 

Bucky stared at him, jaw clenched, and not believing a word he said. “Then why won't you look at me?”

 

Steve sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. Leaning backwards, he banged his head against the couch cushions, turning his head so his cheek was pressed against the fabric and eyes were staring into Bucky’s own. 

 

Bucky took a moment to indulge himself and observed the body in front of him. 

 

Steve's sweatpants (Bucky’s, borrowed) were obviously too small, stopping about midway up his calf with feet crossed at the ankle. Arms squeezed across his front, the white t-shirt rode up at his hip, revealing sweet, pink skin. 

 

(A slow heat built up in Bucky’s gut. He tried to ignore it. 

 

He failed.)

 

Hair mussed up, it was slightly sticking out on the side of Steve’s head, ridiculously so and a polar opposite to his set jaw and blue-eyed stare. 

 

“All people do horrible things.” He said, gazing down at Bucky’s feet, huddled together and wearing bright pink socks. His eyes crinkled at the sight, ears turning red. “What matters, really, is what you do to fix it.”

 

Bucky swallowed. Steadily, he straightened out his legs, placing them in Steve’s lap. He was unfairly warm. 

 

Shutting his eyes, Bucky put his head back, flattening the pillow. “I’m trying. I am.” His voice sounded pathetically small. 

 

He felt something land on his knee. Blinking open his eyes, Steve’s hand was on his sweatpants, rubbing circles into the fabric with his thumb. Taken aback, Bucky looked up, and saw Steve staring at him with a soft expression. He nodded at him, whispering “I know.”

 

-

 

(Bucky's hands were cradled around himself, blue eyes in stark contrast to his black hoodie, and Steve couldn't stop staring.)

 

-

 

“Public opinion is almost all on our side,” Steve announced, the blue screen lighting up his face. “The major news networks haven't exactly caught up with everything yet, and FOX News is totally pissing on us but that's not exactly surprising.”

 

“Why do they hate us again?” Clint was polishing his bow in the corner of the room farthest from the windows. 

 

“Because they are a horrible devil network who use patriotism as an excuse for their own shitty opinions,” Sam stated, matter-of-factly. “Plus, they can't tell their asses from their microphones.”

 

Steve reached out his arm for a fist bump. “This is why we’re friends.”

 

“Hell yeah man.” Sam bumped his fist and they both pulled their fists away, splaying out their fingers and making explosion sounds with their mouths.

 

“Okay okay, we get it,” Stark muttered from his computer, “You two are the bestest of friends and we are truly envious. _Moving on--”_ he slammed the computer closed and leaned his head on his hands. “No one has officially called for our arrests, but considering the fact that the American government is kinda a giant shitstorm at the moment, it could happen.”

 

Bruce shook his head, glasses slowly sliding down his nose. “I disagree. The potential blowback for even suggesting our arrest is too big a risk. And as idiotic I think politicians are, none of them are _that_ stupid.”

 

“But--” Stark held up a finger, “We did do some pretty illegal things, y’know.”

 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Please,” he reached over to the side table and grabbed his glass of water, “We stopped Hydra from turning their country into a dictatorship--they should be thanking us.”

 

“Well, last time I checked, hacking into the Department of Defense is still illegal.”

 

“Well, _I_ didn’t do that.”

 

“Oh, now you wanna play the blame game? Alright _bud,_ who threw a bus through the Senate building? He’s big, bad, and a fucking primary color.”

 

“Green isn't a fucking primary color, you dumbass.”

 

Natasha ushered the others into the kitchen, raiding Bucky’s alcohol cabinet while Stark and Bruce bickered about the color spectrum.

 

-

 

“This kinda sucks y’know.” Steve’s knees were propped up on the table while his fingers tapped against the empty bottles. 

 

Both of them were ten beers in. Bucky was lying dazed on the floor, trying to keep his thoughts coherent and eyesight clear. But Steve was dangling off the table, head upside down, skin flushed a pretty pink and talking in perfectly understandable sentences. 

 

What a dick. 

 

Natasha had bugged off about an hour ago, strolling confidently into the spare bedroom before Bucky heard undeniable lurches and groans. Stark and Bruce had both passed out cold after going at it for hours, and Clint had dragged a giggling Sam into the living room, yelling about constructing the world’s best blanket fort.

 

“This _really_ sucks.” Steve continued. “I’m supposed to be out there helping people, but I can’t, because I’m on the lam, because I tried to _help people.”_ Bucky heard a low sigh. “And now I’m rambling.” 

 

Looking over at Bucky laid out on the floor, still upside-down, he slowly tilted his head, blue eyes narrowing. “You okay?”

 

Bucky looked at Steve in wonder. “You have really pretty eyelashes,” he slurred.

 

“Okay,” Steve groaned, rolling onto his stomach. “You’re drunk.”

 

“Even if I was,” he sighed, “you’d still have pretty eyelashes.”

 

“Jesus.” Steve dropped off the table and crawled over to Bucky’s spot on the floor. “You’re plastered.”

 

Bucky snorted. “It’s not _plastic.”_ He held up his arm to Steve’s bewildered face. “It’s _metal.”_

 

Steve blinked, mouth parted until it suddenly dawned on him. “Not _plastic_ Buck, _plastered.”_

 

“That’s what I said.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Steve sighed, “this isn't going anywhere.”

 

Bucky nodded in agreement. His arm dropped back down to the floor, and silence fell between the two.

 

The red star on Bucky’s arm was slowly fading away, and Steve took that as a good thing.

 

“I fell off a train.”

 

Steve’s head snapped up, realizing that he was staring intently at Bucky’s arm, and he had obviously noticed. His eyes were glazed over, bangs falling out of his ponytail and into his face. “That’s how I lost it.”

 

“Bucky, you don’t have to-”

 

“Look,” Bucky waved his other hand in front of Steve’s face, “You were gonna find out anyway, so just, lemme do it when I probably won’t remember any of this in the morning, okay?”

 

Steve bit his lip, and with sad eyes, he nodded his head.

 

Bucky let his head fall down to his floor. “Okay.” His metal fingers were nervously tapping on the linoleum.

 

“I got captured during my first tour, a bomb was under our humvee. I--was a soldier, can you believe it, a fucking _orphan._ I was born here, in Brooklyn, with nothing to my name, so the only thing I could do was join the army.” He huffed, “Lot of good that got me.”

 

Steve realized he and Bucky had a lot more in common than he wished.

 

“They used some type of, brainwashing shit. I couldn’t remember anything, after, and they--broke me in.”

 

He tried to keep his voice level, both hands trembling. “I don't remember most of it.”

 

Steve watched his eyes slowly water, and didn't call Bucky out on his lie. 

 

“But that’s how I met Nat. We worked together a few times, before--” he gestured to the arm lying on the floor, “this shit.”

 

“And then, we had a mission to capture some scientist dude on a train, like a goddamn Bond villain or something--on a train through the fucking _Alps,_ but ones of his goons blew out the side of the car and I--fell out.”

 

He gritted his jaw. “They didn’t even _try_ to find me. Only Nat did, and there I was, fucking lying in the snow, half-dead, and she took care of me. She even found me the guy who fixed my arm.”

 

“They never came after me. I must’ve hidden out in Romania for fucking, two years, before I remembered everything again. And then I came back.”

 

Bucky sighed, defeated. 

 

“Well,” he said, voice shaking, “good thing we got that over with.”

 

Steve stared down at the floor, trying to keep his own voice level. “Yeah.”

 

Bucky blinked at the ceiling. “Since when did I have two fans?”

 

Shaking his head, Steve cleared his throat. “C’mon Buck, let’s go to bed.”

 

Mumbling, Bucky stuck out his left arm, and Steve hauled him off the floor, draping his arm around his shoulder and slowly ambled to Bucky’s bed.

 

Steve let him drop on top of the blankets, running quickly to the kitchen to place some water and Aspirin on his bedside table.

 

Before he closed the door, he heard a small “Thanks.”

 

Stopping, Steve whispered back “You’re welcome Buck.”

 

“I like that name--Buck.”

 

Steve closed the door before Bucky could see the ridiculous smile on his face. 

 

-

 

Steve was sitting at the table, sipping on tea and reading through one of the books on Bucky’s shelf. About gay magicians. It was a good book.

 

He heard shuffling feet near the fridge. Gazing up, he saw Bucky, clothes rumpled and dark circles under his eyes. He leaned against the fridge, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead and groaned. “Don’t tell me--I spilled my deepest darkest secrets to you last night, didn’t I?”

 

“Well,” Steve took a sip of his tea, “yeah.”

 

Bucky muttered “Great.” Stumbling, he reached to the back of his head and tied his hair into a slight ponytail, his shirt riding up, exposing the tan skin and thin line of hair underneath his navel.

 

Steve almost dropped his cup.

 

Bucky looked up, eyes concerned. “Something wrong?”

 

Steve violently shook his head, nearly spilling his tea on the floor. “No no, everything’s perfect.”

 

“Hm.” He looked down at the book Steve had in his hands, moving his arm to the fridge’s handle. “‘Carry On’ huh?”

 

Bucky opened the door and started to feel around inside. “Didn’t really peg you for the type to enjoy queer literature.” Shrugging, he pulled out an egg carton.

 

“Well, that kinda happens when you’re a queer yourself.”

 

He ignored the sound of styrofoam being crushed in someone’s hands. “Oh,” Bucky muttered. Steve hid his laughter behind the book’s cover.

 

“You can keep it y’know,” Bucky mumbled, moving to the sink to wash the yolk off his hands. “The book.”

 

Steve felt his heart soar and ears turn red. “Sure, thanks Buck.”

 

Bucky nodded, giving Steve a small smile, and it was perfect.

 

-

 

Sam kept his finger on the checker piece, eyes staring at the board. “So, what’s going on with you and Barnes?”

 

Steve was currently incredibly amused at Sam's desperate attempt to win at checkers. “If this is a tactic to get me to mess up it’s not going to work.” 

 

“Damn.” Sam pushed the piece forward before hurriedly pulling it back. “But seriously,” he looked up at Steve’s face, “are you going to ask him out or not?”

 

“Oh my God.” He groaned, hand rubbing his temple and slouching down in his chair.

 

“Don’t ignore the question Steven.” Sam poked Steve’s chest with his free hand. “Are you?”

 

Steve slumped further down on his chair, his head the only thing visible above the table. “I don’t even know if he likes me.”

 

“That’s why you ask him.” He finally moved his piece forward, shouting “Ha! Beat that!”

 

Steve scooted back up, took one look at the board, and moved his own piece. “Beat _that.”_

 

Stuttering, Sam looked down at the board, hastily moving his own piece, focusing so much that he didn’t hear Bucky walk up behind him until the feeling of cold metal seeped through his shirt. 

 

“So, who’s winning?”

 

Whipping his head around, he saw Bucky smirking behind the rim of his cup. 

 

“Fuck you and _help me.”_

 

Bucky peered over the board, face pinched in concentration, sipping coffee from his mug. Walking around to the other side of the table, it was no coincidence that Bucky lowered his head right next to Steve's, while ‘examining’ the rest of the checkerboard. 

 

“How about,” Bucky placed a finger on one of the red pieces, “you move this piece?” Turning his face to Steve, their noses brushed together and Sam almost died when Bucky not-so-subtly glanced downwards at Steve’s open mouth. 

 

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Yeah, that's good.”

 

Sam’s jaw dropped. Steve, the most competitive person Sam has ever _met,_ didn't even care that Bucky just gave away the only way Sam could win. 

 

He was so whipped. 

 

Bucky nodded and quickly shuffled away, but not before Sam saw the victorious smirk on his face.

 

Sam leaned his head on his hand, and unable to hold it in, squealed “You're gonna get _laid.”_

 

Scrambling out of his chair, Sam ran down the hall trying to avoid Steve’s fury. 

 

-

 

“Why don't you have any popcorn?”

 

Bucky popped a strawberry in his mouth, watching Hooper cut open the shark’s stomach on the tv screen. “Because I hate you.”

 

Stark pouted. “Rude.” He picked at the plate of pineapples before reluctantly sticking one in his mouth, mumbling something about blueberries. 

 

(Bruce had sequestered the bowl of blueberries for himself, throwing them into his mouth with his glasses perched on his head.)

 

Bucky felt something drape around his shoulders. Turning around, he saw Steve staring straight forward, ears burning, and his right hand gripping Bucky’s shoulder possessively. 

 

Bucky scoffed, his neck burning. He stuck another strawberry in his mouth. “Could've bought me a drink first.” 

 

The grip on Bucky’s shoulder relaxed, and they watched as the divers pulled a shark tooth out of the boat’s hull. 

 

-

 

After the movie, someone’s hand slammed down on Bucky’s back. Spinning around, he grabbed whoever it was by the neck and pressed them into the wall. 

 

Clint choked, eyes slightly shocked, before holding up the box of condoms in his right hand. “Figured you could use some protection.”

 

If anything, Bucky's grip got even tighter. 

 

-

 

“Holy shit Barnes,” Stark slurred, wine spilling down his front. “This is _good.”_

 

Being stuck inside for so long was starting to get to them. 

 

“How the hell did you get into the cabinet?” Bucky shouted, metal arm whirring and other one pulling at his hair. “You're like two feet tall!”

 

“I’m like,” Stark paused, chugging down the rest of the bottle. Wiping the his mouth, he continued, “at least three feet.”

 

He held up four fingers for reference. “Three.”

 

“Oh my God.” Steve marched over and tried to pry the bottle from Stark’s hands. But apparently, Stark had a surprisingly strong grip, so Steve got about half of the wine spilled on his shirt before he got the bottle away from him. 

 

Bucky certainly wasn’t looking at the way Steve’s abs could be seen through his shirt. He wasn’t.

 

“Hey,” Stark hiccuped. “You might wanna wash that.”

 

Steve frowned, his hands stretching out the bottom of the shirt, like he just realized that his shirt was horrifically stained.

 

He gazed up expectantly at Bucky underneath his eyelashes.

 

His heart fluttered. Fuck.

 

Groaning, Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm and led him into his room, depositing him by the door while he looked in the closet.

 

“You might as well throw that one in the trash, it’s probably ruined anyway.” Rustling through his shirts on the rack, Bucky tried to find something that could fit Steve’s broad shoulders. He was so focused on the task at hand, he didn’t even notice the sounds of a closing door and the bounce of bed springs.

 

Settling on a Miami Heat jersey that Bucky couldn’t even remember where he found, he turned around and seeing the scene in front of him, froze.

 

Steve was laid out on the bed, rid of his stained shirt, with one arm behind his head and the other resting on his stomach. His blue eyes were dazed, and he had a lazy smile on his face. “That for me?”

 

Bucky had a hard time figuring out a response, because all the blood in his body had rushed to his dick.

 

Finally, he stuttered out a “yes,” and held out the jersey with both of his hands. Staring at the floor, he hoped Steve couldn’t see how flushed his face had become.

 

Bucky saw a pair of feet stop in front of him. But instead of a pair of hands grabbing the shirt out of his hands, one hand reached under Bucky’s chin, and lifted it back up.

 

Gazing onto Steve’s face, Bucky caught his breath, because Steve looked like he wanted to eat him alive.

 

He thought, _did he always look this sexy?_

 

 _Yes he did_ dumbass.

 

_Well, then he can’t be doing this on purpose._

 

Steve bit on his lower lip, eyes trailing down the seam of Bucky’s jeans.

 

_Scratch that, he’s totally doing this on purpose._

 

“Buck,” he murmured, voice husky and looking Bucky straight in the eye. “You sure you want me to put on a shirt?”

 

Fuck _me._

 

_Indeed._

 

Bucky wet his bottom lip, hardly containing a smile when Steve’s gaze dropped right back down to his mouth. 

 

The slow heat in his stomach was slowly building up, with every muscle in his body begging to be touched.

 

And a gold-haired Adonis was putting his lips against Bucky’s neck. “We’ve been dancing around this for way too long.”

 

“This is such a bad idea,” he responded, dropping the shirt on the floor and digging bruises into Steve’s hips.

 

“Who says it’s a bad idea?” Steve murmured against his collarbone, kissing it softly.

 

“Me.” Bucky couldn’t think. “I say it.”

 

Steve hummed, leaving a trail of kisses up Bucky’s neck and pushing his leg in-between Bucky’s thighs.

 

Bucky gasped. “I have a lot of emotional baggage.”

 

“So do I.”

 

“I have a pretty tragic backstory.”

 

“Heard it already.”

 

“I haven’t-- _been_ with anyone in ages.”

 

“Neither have I.”

 

Bucky laughed, “Somehow I doubt that.”

 

Steve raked his teeth under Bucky’s jaw, and Bucky moaned.

 

Pulling him by his shirt, Steve walked them to the edge of the bed and they fell back. Steve was splayed out underneath him, still attacking Bucky’s neck, while Bucky grasped the comforter with his hands and panted.

 

He couldn’t feel his legs.

 

Suddenly, Bucky rasped “Clint literally _just_ got me condoms, but I don’t know where I put--”

 

Steve placed his mouth on Bucky’s, tugging on Bucky’s bottom lip with his teeth, and his brain short-circuited. 

 

-

 

He woke up the next morning, leg dangling out of the bed, feeling a warm body pressed against him. Groaning, Bucky turned on his side, the sheets scrunching up underneath his hips. Steve was fast asleep, the sunlight shining through his hair. But then his nose automatically scrunched up, like he could sense Bucky’s gaze on him even while asleep.

 

Yawning, Steve slowly opened his eyes, hissing at the light streaming through the curtains. “Noo,” he whined, pulling the blanket over his head. “It’s too _bright.”_

 

Despite himself, Bucky giggled. “I thought you were a morning person.”

 

“Not when I’m running on no sleep.” He peeked an eye from out under the comforter. “You kinda wore me out.”

 

“Oh my _God,”_ Bucky grumbled, grabbing a pillow and smacking it into Steve’s head.

 

Letting out a betrayed squeak, Steve pushed down the blanket and tried to cover his head, overcome with laughter.

 

Climbing on top of him, Bucky was barely able to keep a straight face while continually beating Steve over with the pillow. And gradually, Steve reached out a hand and stopped the pillow from smashing into his face. Slowly giggling, Steve’s gaze shifted down from Bucky’s face to the sheets pooled around his waist.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “If you think you’re getting lucky again, you’re severely mistaken.”

 

Steve’s cheeks reddened. “I’m good.”

 

Bucky nodded, a stupid grin on his face. “Uh huh, sure.” He leaned down and kissed Steve on the forehead. “Like you don’t want a piece of this.”

 

Steve hummed, resting his hand on Bucky’s hip. “What I want,” he licked his lips, smirking when he saw Bucky’s eyes darken, “is pancakes.”

 

Bucky didn’t need to grab the pillow. He just smacked Steve with his hand.

 

\-----

 

The press caught up with everything eventually, and when they did, they had a fucking field day. Dozens of politicians and White House officials were arrested, even more resigning and running off to the motherland or some other lame ass country. Ironically, despite all the Hydra operatives around him and on his staff, the President was completely clean. He even gave a televised speech about a month after everything went to hell, about accountability and family values, for no clear reason whatsoever. 

 

It was moving, empowering, and a true tearjerker. Steve fell asleep halfway through.

 

Shots of tears falling onto the Presidents blazer and the long, emotional hug he gave to his VP were on the cover of magazines for weeks. But, over time, the news networks slowly moved to a different topic: the new member of the Avengers. A certain black-clothed sniper, with long hair and _gasp,_ a metal arm.

 

Reporters and journalists speculated blindly, missing the mark completely (someone from the New York Times suggested he was Tony Stark’s badass twin, and Bucky hung the article up on their fridge), but still being suspicious nonetheless. Sean Hannity called him a “lying, leather-wearing leftist lunatic” and Sam had a laughing fit on the living room floor. However, newscasters have the attention span of goldfish, and when a school bus fell into the Hudson, pictures of Bucky pulling kids out of the water with his metal arm soon started piling up on editors desks, and none of that seemed to matter.

 

So when an apartment building was on fire in Manhattan, instead of running away, people now ran towards the Winter Soldier, one woman screaming “Please, please help, my daughter--she’s in there _please.”_ Bucky wasted no time running into the building, pulling doors of hinges and kicking in windows, carrying a little girl in Hello Kitty slippers out of the burning structure.

 

Her mother, sobbing, grabbed her daughter from Bucky’s arms and held her tight. Before he could walk away, she grabbed Bucky’s metal fingers and sniffled _“Gracias,_ thank you so much, you saved my baby’s life, _thank you.”_

 

He nodded, and coyly waved at the girl in her mother’s hold. Looking up from her mother’s neck, she smiled with gaps in her front teeth, and waved back.

 

-

 

Bucky was fixing things, the best way he knew how.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for so long and it's fINALLY DONE THANK THE FUCKING ANGELS. Don't even try to ask me what the hell I just did--I don't even know. But the important lesson is fuck FOX News.
> 
> The movie they're watching is Jaws, but the last time I watched it was when I was 12 so I apologize for the shitty detail. Plus, rEAD CARRY ON!!! GOOGLE IT!!! IT'S AMAZING?!?!?!?!
> 
> As always, kudos, criticism and comments (especially comments) are totally welcome!!!


End file.
